Chapter 33: The Final Road Home — Encounter

A mountain cabin.

The furniture was neatly arranged, the floor spotless.

A cage disguised as a living space, meticulously kept.

“Old man, I’ll ask again.”

The blond man sat on the edge of the bed, impatience clear in his voice.

“Are you going to tell me where the control over the Under-Reality is—”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze turning cold.

“Or do I have to read your memories myself?”

The old man on the bed was so thin he barely looked human anymore.

Yet a faint, unreadable smile never left his lips.

“How many times is that now?” the old man rasped.

His voice rasped with mockery.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

The blond man’s eyes darkened.

“Ashes. Don’t think we’re unaware.”

“You’ve already lost control of the Under-Reality.”

His tone sharpened.

“Right now, you’re just a dying old man.”

“No freedom. Just something we keep under watch.”

“Hah.”

The old man let out a cold laugh.

Then he spoke again.

One location. Two. Three.

He began naming every sniper position hidden around the cabin.

The blond man’s expression shifted.

Before he could react—

the old man suddenly lurched forward.

He reacted before thinking.

The blond man stepped back, missed his footing, and went down with the chair.

“Hah…”

The old man chuckled quietly.

“So your confidence… is nothing special after all.”

Then he returned to stillness.

Like a statue worn down by wind and time.

Not moving. Not reacting.

Time no longer touched him.

Buzz—buzz.

The blond man’s communicator vibrated.

He frowned and answered without stepping away from the old man.

“Trace, how’s it going?”

“Come over later. I need you to help me read a file.”

The voice on the other end sounded casual.

“Tch.”

The blond man clicked his tongue.

“How many times do I have to say this? Use encrypted transmission for classified communication.”

“You really can’t drop that habit, huh?”

A light laugh came through.

“Relax. It’s just a small country. Even if they hear it, they won’t do anything.”

“Besides, the upper level is the one directly handling the containment of Ashes.”

“The local government can only comply.”

The blond man didn’t respond.

Then the other voice shifted, carrying a hint of amusement.

“Oh right. I’ve also got a side assignment from above.”

“Guess who the target is?”

“—The granddaughter raised by Ashes.”

Silence.

“…Fine.”

The blond man’s tone cooled slightly.

“I’ll come over later.”

The call ended.

Trace lowered the communicator and returned his attention to the room.

“Did you hear all that?”

He lifted the file.

His fingers flipped through the data, but his eyes never left the old man’s face.

Watching him closely for any reaction.

The old man glanced at the file.

On the screen was a girl already marked under Level Seven investigation:

Xia Jiuwei.

He paused slightly.

A brief flicker of confusion.

Then he smiled.

“You think…”

His voice was low and rough.

“…you can use her to threaten me?”

That expression—calm, almost amused—suggested he had already seen through everything.

Trace let out a quiet breath.

—So it’s not her.

Still, he had never intended to use her as leverage in the first place.

Watching the old man so confidently misread him left Trace with a faint sense of discomfort.

Maybe this was one of the rare moments the old man had miscalculated.

He looked away, expression returning to calm.

What he didn’t notice was—

the moment the old man saw the photo, his eyes cleared for a fraction of a second.

Fifteen more minutes of winding mountain roads brought them to the cabin.

The silence here felt wrong.

Not even a single bird call could be heard.

Lu Nian’an put the car away into the Under-Reality.

Neither of them spoke as they moved quickly toward the stone steps.

Their pace quickened almost on instinct.

Soon, they reached the final stretch.

Xia Jiuwei glanced at the time.

Based on the target’s movement speed—

they still had a few dozen minutes.

Enough time.

She took out a key and inserted it into the lock.

They exchanged a look.

No words were needed.

Their hands pressed the handle at the same time.

—Pushed.

The door let out a dry creak.

The sound cut sharply through the unnatural silence.

Both of them froze for a fraction of a second.

A cold sensation ran down their spines.

Then they reacted.

They relaxed slightly.

They closed the door again.

Locked it back into place.

As if nothing had happened.

Inside, the furnishings had barely changed.

Plain. Neat. Unremarkable.

A dining table. A bookshelf. Cabinets.

Nothing else of significance.

On the wall hung a few scattered photos—

most of them showing her and her grandfather.

Time seemed to have stopped here.

A faint white light seeped out from deep inside the corridor.

It spilled from one of the rooms ahead.

Xia Jiuwei paused briefly.

Then continued forward.

She pushed open the familiar door.

The moment it opened, light poured out.

The first thing she saw was a blond foreign man.

Long hair draped over his shoulders, his expression calm and composed.

His clothing clearly didn’t belong in this place.

A pendant marked with the number “Seven” hung at his chest.

Then her gaze shifted to the bed.

And in that instant—

her breath caught.

The old man lying there was barely alive.

Completely different from a year ago.

The grandfather she remembered—

always energetic, sharp, moving with ease—

now looked like a piece of wood burned down to its last embers.

On the verge of going out at any moment.

Xia Jiuwei didn’t speak.

She stepped forward slowly.

Disbelief flickered in her eyes.

She reached out—

and touched his hand.

Cold.

Fragile.

The moment her fingers touched it—

the world twisted without a sound.

Xia Jiuwei, Lu Nian’an, and the old man—

all vanished at the same time.

The blond man sitting to the side—

remained exactly as he was.

Calm.

Unaware.

As if it had never happened.